{"id":16384,"date":"2018-01-11T02:30:08","date_gmt":"2018-01-11T10:30:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ladyslittleloves.com\/?p=16384"},"modified":"2018-01-11T02:30:08","modified_gmt":"2018-01-11T10:30:08","slug":"my-story","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/livingwithlady.com\/2018\/01\/my-story.html","title":{"rendered":"My Story"},"content":{"rendered":"

Gwyneth, our daughter, is the age I was when it happened.<\/p>\n

Seven.<\/p>\n

I look at her little self and I can’t imagine a little girl going through something like that. She is so innocent. SO loving. So full of energy and joy.<\/p>\n

I look at her and I see me. I see the little girl I once was. How I saw the world. How I was living.<\/p>\n

And it makes me sad.<\/p>\n

The more I live this life and the more people I meet, the more I am realizing this tragedy is more common than I would have ever thought or hoped or wished or dreamed; my childhood best friend, my “little” in my sorority,\u00a0 one of my best friends as of the last four years, and most recently, a new mom-friend, all having this happened to them, too.<\/p>\n

I am close to the age my mom was when it happened; my husband, close to the age of my dad;\u00a0 and little Frankie, close to the age of my sister.<\/p>\n

\"img20180110_20310385\"<\/p>\n

We are living the life of my past before it all came crashing down.<\/p>\n

********************************************************************<\/p>\n

I mentioned a while back<\/a> that I have a story like I believe everyone to have.\u00a0 That what you may think of someone most likely isn’t the whole truth. That everyone has their something. It has taken a long time, and a lot of encouragement, but I am just now ready to share mine.<\/p>\n

*********************************************************************<\/p>\n

Our favorite game was Connect Four. We played it often sitting on our brown, shaggy rug before bed and I looked forward to this time. He was active. An avid tennis and basketball player.\u00a0 We were always doing something. One of our favorite things to do as a family was to go on hikes looking for petrified wood and to ride our bikes around town.\u00a0 He taught me how to ride a bike. I loved working with him in his shop and wrestling on the floor. We went on all sorts of vacations and took many day-trips. He was silly and would put stickers on his cheeks to make me laugh and he’d play in our kiddie pool.<\/p>\n

\"img20180110_20100135\"<\/p>\n

\"img20180110_19530942\"<\/p>\n

\"img20180110_20054774\"<\/p>\n

\"img20180110_20354018\"<\/p>\n

I thought my world was normal. I thought I was like every other first-grader.<\/p>\n

I went to school that day as I would any other day. But when I wasn’t picked up that day by my mom, something felt off.<\/p>\n

Instead, our grandpa opened the door to his white van and told me and my sister, who was three at the time, to get in. It was February and cold outside.<\/p>\n

I was excited to see our Grandpa, but we weren’t greeted with his usual smile. Rather, not much contact at all. He couldn’t look at us and would only answer our questions with minimal words while looking straight ahead.<\/p>\n

For the majority of the ride, we drove in silence.<\/p>\n

Grandpa and Grandma’s house was usually fun; filled with laughter and kids riding Radio Flyer wagons down wheelchair ramps.\u00a0 We went there often for family dinners, holidays, and just to spend time together. Grandpa was silly; but he wasn’t this day.<\/p>\n

When we got out of the van, Grandpa told us to go inside and see our mother.<\/p>\n

As soon as we opened the creeky door to the house, everyone’s gaze went toward the door as my sister and I walked inside. It was dim. Conversations fell silent. Eyes were swollen. We were the center of attention.<\/p>\n

And I froze as everyone stared.<\/p>\n

We were told our mom was in the back bedroom and to go see her.<\/p>\n

I paused, noticing how dark the hallway was before moving forward. This is when I heard the sound.<\/p>\n

A loud, exhausted moaning. The sound of someone with nothing left. The sound I remember twenty-six years later. The sound of my mom.<\/p>\n

I walked slowly down that hallway running my fingers along the faux wood-paneled walls, scared, with my little sister right behind me.<\/p>\n

I stopped once I got to the entryway and saw my mom’s curly brown hair peeking out from under the covers.<\/p>\n

“Mommy?” I asked in a meek voice.<\/p>\n

She looked over her shoulder and sat up, wiped her tears, and asked for my sister and me to come over to her. We crawled up on the bed and sat on either side of her, cuddled close. Confused.<\/p>\n

Wrapped in her arms, my mom told us how our daddy had been very sick for a long time. Sick in his heart and in his head. That he loved us very much and that he was with God now and being taken care of.<\/p>\n

I went to school that day a family of four, and I came home a family of three.<\/p>\n

Our lives, forever changed.<\/p>\n

\"Dec<\/p>\n

This is the very last picture I ever took with him. It was Christmas, two weeks after I had turned seven-years-old. He wanted for us to put these stickers from a game I had received on our faces and to take a photo together. I was embarrassed and didn’t want to. But ultimately, I did it for him.<\/p>\n

That very last photo, I didn’t want to take.<\/p>\n

************************************************************<\/p>\n

To be continued….<\/p>\n

My apologies for stopping here. With tear-stained cheeks, this is about all I can do for right now.<\/p>\n

\"img20180110_19415700\"<\/p>\n

\"img20180110_19493441<\/p>\n

\"img20180110_20081015\"<\/p>\n

For Part 2 of my story go HERE<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

For The Follow Up to my story, go HERE<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Gwyneth, our daughter, is the age I was when it happened. Seven. I look at her little self and I can’t imagine a little girl going through something like that. She is so innocent. SO loving. So full of energy and joy. I look at her and I see me. I see the little girl […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":16450,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-16384","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-life"],"yoast_head":"\nMy Story - Living with Lady<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/livingwithlady.com\/2018\/01\/my-story.html\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"My Story - Living with Lady\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Gwyneth, our daughter, is the age I was when it happened. 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